


Can't Remember to Forget You

by SebaDA



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Lawyer Sam Winchester, M/M, Private Investigators, Stuttering Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-07 07:55:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3167294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SebaDA/pseuds/SebaDA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*This work is shamelessly named after a Shakira song* </p><p>Sam Winchester just wants to live a normal life with his beautiful wife, Jessica Moore, and forget about everything in his past. Dean just wants a new life where he doesn't feel so alone anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Very new at this, please leave any comments or suggestions you have. This will have some legal elements; I will try to be as accurate as possible.

     Sam's brain ached, ached sharply like it did back in college after he had just finished a fifteen page paper an hour before the deadline. Sam wished for stronger relief, something stronger than this aspirin his secretary was currently placing lightly in his palm. Regardless, he swallowed the pills down and stared at the file before him. The file contained a rough outline of a criminal suit being brought against some guy —Mitch, Michael, or something. Sam forget his name— charged with first-degree murder. This case was the kind of case that would be highly profitable for the person with the skill to take it, yet he didn't have the experience dealing with such a complex case. Hell, he had only passed the Bar a few years ago. More like just two years ago his brain tossed out offhandedly. At twenty-six years old, Sam excelled as a criminal defense lawyer, but he was very young in the business. The few cases he had tried in front of a jury, the prosecuting team always managed to slide in their jokes about his age; despite his towering over just about everyone he met. 

     He thought of that one professor who had taught him how to hold his shoulders back, his chin lifted, his pose strong so that his height became imposing, how to dominate a room. That professor taught him the proper way to manage his size. Dean would call me gigantor, Sam thought quietly. Then paused amid his musings. He hadn't thought of his family in months, hand't talked to anyone in years. He had stopping having dreams about Dean around the same time he had proposed to Jess. 

     His thoughts then wandered to his new wife; they had only been married for two years. He had wanted to propose during senior year of his undergraduate program, yet whenever he hinted around the subject Jess always insisted they needed more time. Sam never understood what she meant when by "more time", but he had waited. He waited three years, and then it was a whirlwind of an engagement. They were married in a pretty little chapel near Palo Alto, and Jessica Moore became Mrs. Jessica Winchester. 

           There were times when Sam just couldn't believe his luck. Despite his rocky childhood, he had managed to steer his life into normalcy. He had gotten where he wanted, became who he wanted to be. He was just like everyone, and he could practically taste the pleasure he got from knowing that. 

          Which got him back to thinking about his very normal job wherein which he needed to decide whether or not he was going to take this case. The man involved, Sam still couldn't place the name, had been arrested for involvement in the abduction and death of a 14 year old girl. Sam didn't know if he had the stomach to dig deeper into this particular case, and he peevishly wondered why his boss gave it to him. Said boss, Mr. Tanner, was a jerk and Sam didn't bother hiding a dislike for him. Unlucky for Tanner, lucky for Sam, the owner of the firm, Jason Briggs, had gone to school with Sam and his propensity for Sam outweighed Tanner's prejudice.  Jason, son of the renowned judge Nicholas Briggs, had the law firm passed down to him when he finished law school and Jason proceeded to hire all of his "buddies" from school. Sam and Jason hadn't talked _that_ much but the few occasions that Sam socialised during college he typically spent time with Jason. 

     All of this was beneficial when Sam was looking for a job. When he arrived to interview at the Briggs law firm Jason recognized him, and with a "Sammy boy, you're looking good. Did you grow a few inches since I last saw you? Hey, you want to help out an old friend here? I could use a guy like you," he had been hired. 

     Jessica had been a tiny bit worried that he wasn't going to be able to find a job the way the job market was. Sam was incredibly proud of himself and his instantaneous flow from school to work. Jess went to work as a preschool teacher and the children absolutely adored her. Sam wouldn't ever admit it, but there was an innermost part of him that was overjoyed as he saw her job as an effective birth control measure. God, he shuddered, if there was anything he wished in the world, it was that he never had children. Yet, Jess could get her "baby-fix" all day long and then come home to Sam.  

      In the midst of his daydream — fantasies — about that little tongue flick Jess perfected on his cock last night, a timid little knock came at his door. A blonde head peeped into view. 

      "Mr. Winchester, sir? Mr. Briggs would like to see you in his office,". There wasn't any point in telling Maggie that she interrupted him and the beginning of a very kinky plan for dinner. He could just imagine Jess in all white,  wearing some stupid skimpy white angel wings, covered in whipped cream. He could grip those wings and lift her onto the table, maybe arrange her on her hands and knees because for the first time she would let him....

       "ahem, Sam," Maggie pressed and he rose to follow her her Jason's office.

        Sam didn't bother knocking, because Jason kept insisting that they were friends even while working and he wanted the environment kept casual if there were no clients in the office at the time. So Sam strode into Jason's office and only received a minor shock to find another man in the room. Jason wasn't standing so this guy wasn't a client, but that was pretty obvious from the off-white dress shirt and wrinkled dress pants which looked as if they had been picked up at some Southern garage sale of a Baptist minister.  Yet, what was really out of place at this Californian firm was the long tan ratty trench coat this stranger was wearing.  

        "Hey, Sammy," Sam pointedly gave Jason a bitch face for that, "How're things this morning? Heard Tanner passed that Milo case down to you. You taking it?" Jason didn't react to Sam's grimace.  Jason's voice this morning was gritty with a lack of coffee and the beginning of a cold. 

        When Sam spoke, the stranger stepped aside to let him in and Sam caught a glance of blue, blue silk and kitten blue eyes. A blue so deep, they would put the sea to shame. 

        "uhhh...Milo case?" Sam's mouth fumbled, his brain several paces back. Then it came back and clicked. "Oh, you mean the guy that kidnapped and murdered that girl". It was an aside but the man spoke up in a foreign, gravelly voice much deeper than Sam expected and extraordinarily solemn. 

        "John Milo did not harm that child and you must help him. John is a very dear friend to my partner". The man said "partner" but Sam couldn't help but wonder in what context that word was being used. 

        "I'm sorry, but you haven't introduced yourself. Who are you?" Sam queried glancing at Jason for a hint. 

        The man looked unperturbed and answered simply, "I am Castiel, a friend of your brother". 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, sorry for taking so long to update. I'm hoping to get the rest of the chapters posted soon! Second, thank you to all reading this fic, it means a lot to me.

_Fuck._ It was the first thought that went through his head, and for a few seconds it was the only thing going through his head. Why would Dean be here unless he thought there was a hunt nearby? Yet, Sam was fairly diligent. He would have noticed if there were multiple strange deaths occurring. I mean sure, he had given up the life; it didn't mean he became an idiot. So why? Why was Dean here? Would he want to see Sam? Did Sam want to see Dean? It made his head hurt more than it already did, made him feel tense and not in control. 

Jason glided into the conversation, after Sam's pause, "Brother, eh? I didn't know you had a brother, Sammy," again with that fucking nickname. They needed to have a talk about that Sam decided, "Well, Sam I would like to formally, I suppose, introduce you to Castiel Novak". Jason gestured lackadaisically with his pointer and middle finger towards Castiel.

"Castiel, this is Briggs firm's very own Sam Winchester," Sam received a floppy finger point his way. Castiel moved several inches too far into Sam's personal space before saying, "I know. Dean speaks of you often," though his mind seemed preoccupied.

"Me? Why?" Sam questions a bit guarded, wondering who this man was to Dean and why he supposedly knew so much about Sam.

"Because he loves you very much, and receives pleasure from recounting stories from when you two were younger". Castiel states this awkward tidbit while staring outside of Jason's floor to ceiling bay window seeming to study the flight path of a very fat bumblebee. Sam wanted to keep pressing. He wanted, _needed_ , more answers so he could hopefully decipher what Dean and his weird, puppy-like friend were doing here and how long they planned on staying. But he was interrupted in his questioning by three furious, staccato knocks on the door before Tanner burst into the room. 

"Sir, I do not believe that I will be able to be co-counsel with Winchester. His methods are not full formulated and I think I would have better luck with someone with more experienced," Tanner only then broke off his tirade and realized there were other people in the room, namely the subject of his rant. Castiel, dropping a card onto Jason's desk with a quiet "Please call me" excused himself from the room. Though Sam noticed this, he could not follow Castiel liked he wanted to and interrogate him further. Thus, his mind discarded the man out of existence as quickly as his presence had flamed into Sam's reality. 

Sam obviously had more important issues to work out. Like the fact that he was indeed taking the Milo case and he would have to work with freaking Tanner because apparently Sam did need someone on counsel who knew the ropes. What the hell did that mean. Sam clearly knew how a trial worked, so therefore didn't he "know the ropes". But today he hadn't had any say. Just had this thrown into his lap and he just had to hope it didn't bite any of his vital bits.  For the first time in months, he felt the staggering need for a drink. Like ASAP. He texted Jess, just to get a feel for her mood and how high his chances were on getting both drunk and laid. 

She texted back,  _Not feeling well, really bad cramps. Planning on a cuddle night on the couch. I Love you, see you soon._

So, he was only getting drunk, he thought to himself morosely. Shoving hair out of his face, he stowed the preliminary paperwork into his briefcase and strode out of his office. He could begin wrapping his head around this tomorrow during his second cup of coffee. 

Sam wracked his brain when he got home wondering if today he had posed the question, "could this day get any worse?" this morning, and the universe decided to take that as a personal challenge.

The first thing he heard, when he stepped through the front door was Jess sniffling. He walked into the master bedroom anxiously, frightened that it was a girlie thing. 

And then he saw it. She was surrounded by all of his ...personal items. His duffel bag, the one that Dean bought him in junior high school when he made the soccer team at a school in North Dakota, had all of its contents scattered neatly beside it. Pictures were falling through Jessica's hands in a strange rhythm in time with her tears. When she came to the last one, she thumbed at the image her face a soft mask of curiosity, disbelief, and grief. Sam inwardly winced when he prayed desperately she hadn't ruined any of his photos.  Sam also breathed a sigh of relief when he realized that he had stored his beaten up little camera in a special case and Jessica didn't seem to have found it. 

"Who is he?" she asked plaintively. 

Sam didn’t answer immediately, but rather he snags the picture out of her hand to hold it to the light.

It had been almost a year since Sam had bothered to dig this collection out of his bag. But god, did he love this particular picture. Dean was perched against the hood of the Impala and it had been summertime judging by the constellation of freckles that covered his bare back, crossed over his shoulders, and spilled drunkenly onto his stomach. His hair had been longer than usual, it curled around his ears in this adorable way that made Sam’s mouth water. And his smile had been so damn happy. All bright white teeth and eyes that sparkled like green marbled glass.

Sam took a picture and to this day was stunned at how he had captured all that beauty, a badass kind of beauty he thought to himself amused, onto a flimsy piece of cardstock. Sam remembered how the soft denim of Dean’s jeans felt underneath his spanning teenage hands. He had gripped Dean, who had been warm and gorgeous. Sam couldn’t help but to kiss that smiling mouth. He hadn’t been pushed away, hadn’t been stopped, he kissed until his mouth was plum and bruised.

It was the first time Dean had let Sam's hands wander and Sam took full advantage. He had gripiped Dean's ass and encouraged by his brother's slutty little moans had used his handhold to settle Dean's hips in a gentle rythm, he had wanted to savour his brother's sweet little whines as they rutted against each other. Then Sam had breathed wetly into the shell of Dean's ear about how pretty his big brother was and Dean came in his pants with a groan that dragged Sam into blurry white ectasy as he stained his own jeans. Afterwards, Sam had sucked a lazy bruise into Dean's neck flushing with a possesive pride. 

 

Sam did not want to share that with Jess, share Dean with Jess at this moment. 

“Jess, why are you in my stuff?” Sam managed to shove his annoyance out of his voice. It wasn’t her fault, and the rational portion of his brain kept trying to remind him.

“Sam, why did you take these? Who is he?” It was a merry-go-round of questions. Questions that Sam wasn’t going to answer, not today at least. Hopefully, not ever.  Yet, Jess wouldn't budge either, not answering anything sufficiently.

Jess had always desired more knowledge about his childhood. Her drive for this knowledge could not be sated with his meager lies and she always asked more questions. She wanted a piece of him, a part of his personality, that he wanted nothing to do with. That Sam, the sixteen year old Sam that had taken pictures of his older brother all summer, that Sam had been tramped down by Stanford, law school, by Jess, and of course marriage. But still, it was fragments of that Sam that Jessica was currently sitting in the middle of.

“Sam…. Come on baby. It’s okay, I just want to know. Is he an old boyfriend?” Sam snorted and shook his head. Despite him never dating guys in college, or ever admitting to any gay feelings ever, she automatically assumed that he had a past male flame.

Definitely needed a drink, and he cursed his gift of foresight. He hadn’t bought any booze to keep around the house; he had too much ambition to pick up a drinking problem and become John Winchester Jr. Still right now, with the day that he was having, alcohol is required. Therefore, he needed to get out of the house and preferably out of this mess.

“I’m going out,” he announced almost unconsciously and Jess’ eyes widened comically.

To her defense, Jess normally could talk Sam off of a ledge which she proved more times than he would like to admit. Especially that time when he became too stressed about the Bar exam and wanted to drop out of law school. I mean she was brilliant with a tongue sharp as glass and most times he bent to her will.

Tonight though, he just took a glance at her eyes, blue, but not Castiel blue came to mind absently, and went to the closet to change out his monkey suit.

Due to Jess’ apparent searching, she had unearthed other items that had been lodged at the recesses of his closet. One of these items that were on the floor were an old pair of jeans. These jeans had a hole in the knee and were almost uncomfortably tight. He had bought them at the end of his growth spurt, but he had still grown a couple of inches since now and adolescence. Dean had loved these jeans, loved his ass in these jeans, even if he never said anything. He had always been precise when washing them. He read the laundry instructions on the inside tag and attempted to replicate the steps as best as he could in a laundromat. Sam appreciated the concern, and these had been one of the few articles of clothing that had not been shrunken or lost.

Sam also threw a plaid shirt over his white tee-shirt and he felt like a teenager again. Like the boy who had nothing, yet with a brother that was his everything.

Sam needed that drink like yesterday. He always felt off-kilter when he tormented himself with thoughts of Dean. It was one of the few times when he wished for something else in his life, another life maybe with a different love, eyes green instead of blue. 

“The picture, it's my brother, Dean. Put that picture on the bottom when you clean up, alright babe. I’ll be back soon. Don’t wait up for me”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Comments are wonderful and more comments equals more smut.


	3. Chapter 3

The bar that Sam drove to was a dive. One where Sam knew he wouldn’t run into anyone from work. There were plenty of older, grizzled men and the few women present had sadness and desperation dripping into the fractures of their drugstore makeup. Definitively nothing that caught his eye, but he really hadn’t come here for company.

He ordered a couple beers to start himself off, and watched a lazy game of pool a group of drunken men were attempting to play. His fingers itched to go join, to clean them out of their booze money. But he didn’t have the heart or the need.

When the beer started to have an effect on him, he swore to himself. It was just because he hadn’t really had a drink in years, he self-justified, not because he was a lightweight. Whatever the reason, the beer did make him feel a little drowsy and his senses were a little dulled. It was worth it though. His limbs felt loose and his brain was quietly content.

That being said, he still instinctively reached for the phantom gun on his hip when a hand landed on his shoulder.

He felt rather than saw the stranger laugh but he knew it when he heard, “G-Gu-God, s-Sammy a little s-s-slow there, huh?” Sam didn’t care about the jest or the nickname. He did flinch a little because he remembered the last time he had heard Dean call him Sammy; except, the last time Dean had been fighting these wet, angry tears which made his voice shake and “Sammy” had come out garbled, jagged.

None of that mattered though, because his brother was right here. And when Sam turned on his stool, there he was. A thirty-year old Dean, all teeth pulled over a plump bottom lip in a bashful excitement.

And Sam should have known in his heart that he was being an asshole, Sam should have hugged Dean and told him he missed him. He really shouldn’t have pointed out, “You stutter.” He watched the shutters slam down behind Dean’s eyes before he nodded once shortly.

He was turning away before there was an arm on his wrist and Castiel appeared on his side. “Disfluency, Dean has had a disfluency after sustaining a head injury, you dick,” Castiel’s voice was again a surprise coming from such an unassuming man. Sam probably should have been more surprised at seeing him, trench coat and all, here but he really only felt chastised by his words because he knew that it was rude from him to bring that up.

But still, this stutter marked the passage of time and events that occurred while Sam wasn’t there. It beckoned examination, prickled Sam’s curiosity.

“What happened? Was it a hunt?” Sam questioned Dean, disregarding Castiel’s presence. Yet, Dean placed a hand on Castiel’s arm in warning and shook his head. Cas pressed his mouth into a single pink line and his eyes flashed reminding Sam of the sea waves which mirrored the cloudy sky on storm-covered days.

Sam didn’t like that silent communication, nor Dean’s headshaking so he kept pressing, “Does Dad know?” Dean’s eyes pressed closed at that, “Is it a new injury? Have you been to a hospital?”

The more questions he asked, the more Dean seemed to shrink into Castiel. But, he stubbornly refused to answer any of Sam’s queries until finally, “It’s n-nuh-n-none of you b-b-business,” he gritted out, his face flushing a delicate shade of pink before darkening into an angry red blush either from humiliation or exertion Sam didn’t know.

With that though Dean walked to the pool table with Castiel in tow. Sam watched the way they interacted and wondered if he should follow and what he should say. Dean constantly touched Castiel, his arm, wrist, chest, and Sam figured they each signified some word or meaning that Dean didn’t feel comfortable trying to force out.

He took his time processing, studying this new version of his older brother. He didn’t have the same devil-may-care swagger that he had at twenty-two. His face had matured into a freaking work of art. Instead of baby fat, there were defined cheekbones. His eyes though, whenever he glanced up at Sam, they were as captivating as ever.

After, Sam had managed to down six rounds of shots and watch Dean destroy any willing patron at pool, he got up intending to challenge his brother. He would play an easy game of pool like he hadn’t in eight years.

But then his phone rang. It was Jess calling to make sure he hadn’t fallen into a ditch and suddenly at 12:31 am in a rank dive of a bar where the older, stuttering model of his brother leaned back into Castiel—again the fuck kind of name is that— with the practiced ease of familiarity Sam sharply felt the pull back to normalcy.

Back to his life, where he was a respected attorney with a beautiful wife who dealt with his rapidly changing moods with ease. Sam no longer felt like the seventeen year old boy who loved his brother, who cared about the world, care about other people. A settled life held much more value to him now, and so Sam returned to that normal without a backward glance.

He missed the way Dean’s mouth tightening in disappointment, hurt once again by Sam’s indifference towards his family.

Sam slipped into bed that night, feeling all night again with the world. He wound an arm waist, once again relieved at her ability to remind him constantly of why he should be grateful. She saved him from himself, saved him from hunting and a life of pain. He fell asleep full of contentment, and buried somewhere six feet below his chest cavity he could only feel a glimmer of disappointment and sorrow. However, that was normal, he drunkenly mused, he had felt this since the day he left home and went to bed away from Dean’s rhythmic snoring.

 

Dean fell asleep that night, eyes sore from tears unshed in his eye sockets. Cas’ arms were wrapped around him, and Cas rumbled though “Hey Jude”, missing only a few words here and there. Still, even if Dean’s voice worked properly he didn’t have the words to explain how watching Sam choose whoever was on the other side of that phone over him felt worse than all of the things that Alastair did to him in Hell.

 

Within the next few days, Sam found himself pits deep in the Milo case. Luckily for George Milo, due to the criminal nature of this case the prosecutor’s had the burden of proof. Compounded with the lack of eyewitnesses, this would have to be a case built off of circumstantial evidence. That could be disproved and Sam assured himself that he could convince the jury that there was a reasonable doubt over who was the perpetrator in this crime. Honestly, even if Sam was being completely unbiased, there were huge holes in the prosecutor’s side of the argument. It appeared as if Milo had only been pinned with this charge because he was the closet to the scene of the crime and had a faulty alibi. That by itself, nonetheless, isn’t enough to send him to prison for the rest of his life.

The more Sam read into the file, the more doubtful Sam became of the guilt of the accused man. He also keep coming across a scrap of paper with only a number scribbled onto it. The card tugged at the recesses of Sam’s mind as something he had seen before.

Sam called the number and felt his heart clench up,“H-Hullo. Please hold a m-minute”. Sam heard when Dean covered the phone with his hand before shouting “Cas!”.

Shortly the phone passed hands before he heard Castiel say, “Novak, here. What can I help you with?” Sam still wasn’t sure why the paper was there so he didn’t know how “Cas” was going to be able to help him.

“Uh, yeah. I’m calling about the Milo case,” Sam hoped that by keeping it as vague he could hide his ignorance. “May I ask who’s calling?” Castiel questioned, though shouldn’t he already know it was Sam because he was obviously there when he heard Sam was taking the case. But whatever.

Sam still hesitated before responding, “Sam Winchester. On behalf of the Briggs firm, I’m calling about the Milo case,” he heard Cas’ inhale, then there was a brief pause, and then all of a sudden the phone was passed.

“H-Hi,” Dean spoke and Sam imagined the effort he put in to attempt to sound normal, professional like. Still Sam had no idea why he was calling, and in an out of character move he told Dean of his obliviousness. The echo of relieved laughter reverberated through the phone. “W-w-We’re Private Investigators. T-taught Castiel how to question p-p-people, and I research and w-wu-work in the field. We w-were first recruited by the g-g-government,” Dean pauses here as if unsure if Sam wanted to continue listening.

“And you work for firms too?” Sam prompted.

“Yeah, s-sometimes. Can help gather evidence, compile reports,” Dean finished, “and it’s legitimate,” he adds breathlessly.

“So you don’t hunt anymore? What does Dad think about that?” Sam could suddenly see the way Dean pulled on his bottom lip with his sharp top teeth.

“Sam, Dad’s dead. Has been for three years,” suddenly there wasn’t enough air in Sam’s office.

“When? How did it happen?” Sam didn’t really want to know but a perverse part of him wanted to hear about the death of such a ….hero, his inner voice balked at calling his father that.

“Sammy not h-he-h” Sam probably would have let him finish but, well there really wasn’t an excuse, he was just impatient.

“Why? Why didn’t you tell me? Where is he buried? Was there a funeral?”

“Complicated,” Dean replied shortly.

“What Dean, what was complicated. Wait, what are you doing right now?” Sam pressed stubbornly.

“N-nothing. We’re supposed to be looking into the death of that girl. But, if I’m with you, it could look like work, to Cas anyways”. Sam snorted, wondering when Cas became Dean’s keeper, but he also noticed absently that when Dean was talking about the job, he didn’t really stutter except for the first few words. He seemed more like the Dean Sam remembered from childhood, cutting out of target practice to have fun with Sam. 

“Okay, I’ll come pick you up,” Sam answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and the support. Just a note Dean did still go to Hell, just imagine he made a deal to save someone's life, just not Sam's.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for taking so long to update. This chapter has lots of Dean stuttering, I tried to portray it as accurately as possible. I apologize if there is anything offensive. It is not my intention.

Dean and Castiel apparently rented out smallish apartments when they anticipate a longer case.

Sam shook his head when he realized that his brother managed to obtain a semi-permanent residence no less than ten miles away from his own home and he had no knowledge of anything. Something in him demanded that Dean hadn’t picked this case coincidentally, his brother was too smart for this proximity to be accidental.

Regardless, Dean was present when Sam went to pick him up and there was some initial whistling over his new car. It had been a birthday present to himself when he turned twenty-five. The navy matte finish on his Dodge Challenger struck an odd note of masculine pride in his chest, he knew his car was badass, and the absentminded power of the engine flooded him with a child-like sense of familiarity.

Yet, this car didn’t have the memories embedded into the paint like Dean’s impala, which currently rested in the apartment complex parking lot. God, it had been a long time since Sam had seen that car.

Dean slid into the seat of his car and Sam drove off in pursuit of a café on the outskirts of town. Initially, Dean wrinkled his nose at the girlishness of the place, Mo’s, but Sam thought the atmosphere was nice. The people who drank their coffee here weren’t snobby or pretentious, and it was cozily quiet. Dean followed behind him a tad hesitantly, probably fearing for his masculinity Sam thought amused, with a legal pad and a pen.

When Sam went to order, he realized he had no idea what Dean would want to order or what he even still liked.

 This knowledge troubled him in a vague sense. Before he left, he could have ordered for Dean drunk and half-asleep. He knew from experience. There were only so many greasy little diners you went to with another person before you began to memorize their order, anticipating the words before they had even been spoken.

Sam had always liked to order for Dean, despite his brother’s insistence it made them look like an old married couple. Dean sacrificed so often, so methodically, that Sam felt genuine pride whenever he knew that there were things he could do to prove his love for his brother.

Dean however had been prepared and printed out _coffee-black-nothing girly_ onto the notepad. Sam nodded and beckoning the waitress over, he ordered two large, plain coffees.

But when Dean kept writing after the waitress left, there was a click in Sam’s brain, and he set a large hand over Dean’s.

     “You don’t have to do that. I don’t mind the stut-“ one sharp glance had him wracking his brain for the word that Castiel used in the bar, “you disfluency. I don’t mind it. I want to hear you tell the story.”

Sam left his hand over Dean. He knew it was the first time he had actively touched Dean, reached out and he had been there in over eight years. It felt nice. A form of contact that he liked. He didn’t usually like touching people without a reason.

Dean left his hand there, a signal that he appreciated nonverbal contact more now than he had when Sam was younger. But he pushed the legal pad away.

     “Dad s-sacrificed himself for m-mu-me. Some d-demon ran us off-f the road, and there was a c-c-car crash. I died, but Dad made a d-d-d-d,”

     “deal,” Sam supplied trying to help Dean relax. But it seemed to have the opposite effect and he had a difficult time even starting the next word. His face flushed again as his tongue fought to withhold every utterance and Sam felt impatience seep in. He almost wanted to shake the words out of him. He made to reach for the notepad again but Sam squeezed his hand in warning.

     “Dean, you can get it out. Just relax. It’s not that hard. No pressure,” at that Dean rolled his eyes.

     “Y-yeah, no p-p-pressure. Just an as-s-shole of a b-b-br-brother who doesn’t have the time to listen about his dad’s death.”

Even though Sam probably deserved it, the words still felt like frostbite, frigid and sickening. There was anger, a thin veil of it, covering Dean’s pain but his level of self-consciousness was painfully obvious.

Sam felt he had no choice but to reach out and touch more; didn’t matter that the way he grabbed his brother didn’t fit into society’s paradigm of normal. Dean needed him. “Come here” he pleads. He pretends that he doesn’t see the hope that paints Dean as he slides onto Sam’s booth row. Dean scoots into Sam’s embrace, and Sam can feel the nervous tension in his body, muscles drawn tighter than a bow string.

There wasn’t anything for Sam to say because every time he opened his mouth around Dean “arrogant dick” keep oozing out.

It was fucking impossible, and Sam sensed his personality becoming fragmented again. A jigsaw puzzle of a man with the pieces bent at the wrong angles and the people that loved him needed something whole and solid. Because the Sam that Dean had been in love with had been buried alongside nostalgia and more than brotherly feelings.

     “ ‘m sorry. You didn’t d-d-deserve that. It’s hard f-fu-for me, talking ab-b-bout this. To you. H-haven’t talked this m-m-much at once in years,” Dean pushed out but Sam didn’t feel the same drive to force the words out of Dean. Now that he had broken the normal brother protocol, there wasn’t the same level of urgency to return to normalcy. Dean appeared to have perceived this change, because his body became more lax and talking became a little more fluid.

     “So y-yeah, Dean made a d-deal with a demon w-w-w-went to hell for me. I g-got him out and he disappeared. H-h-hopefully in Heaven, b-b-but Cas never found him up th-there.” And that, that was a lot of information to take in at once.

     “Castiel—Cas, has a hotline to Heaven or something?” Sam’s question dripped sarcasm with a bit more aggression in his voice than he liked. But Dean appeared to be completely serious as he nodded, “y-yeah, angel of the Lord,” and when Sam caught the edge of a warm little smile decorating Dean’s face he coolly asked, “Well, then why the hell hasn’t he fixed you yet? Isn’t that what angels usually do, the whole healing thing.”

     Dean pushed away from Sam, “You know w-what, fuck you. You w-wanted to know what happened to D-d-d-dad and that’s w-what happened. H-had a hunter’s f-f-f-funeral, I had to b-burn the bones myself-f-f. Just like I had to hunt b-by myself for freaking years while you p-p-played the profess-s-s-sional. I was all alone until Cas f-f-found me, saved me from an early d-d-death by alcohol poisoning. S-s-so you can shove it, Sam” he hissed, his voice getting more and more agitated. With that Dean downed his coffee and got out of the booth.

     “Wait, that was,” Sam wanted to suck the words back into the cesspool of his mind where they came from.

     “uncalled for, yes it was,” Castiel’s gruff cut into Sam’s sentence. Sam jumped and sputtered indignantly.

     “I flew here when I realized Dean left with you. I was afraid you would hurt his feelings again. I was right.” There was some huffed muttering on Dean’s part about not being a freaking damsel in distress, but he didn’t seem inclined to jump back into the conversation.

There was a piece of Sam’s mind puzzling over what Castiel was referring to when he said he had hurt Dean’s feelings before now. I mean, they were brothers. They had hurt each other’s feelings all the time when they were younger, little snipes which wounded their budding egos.

But somewhat jealous, okay maybe really fucking jealous, Sam itched to know how much Dean shared with the angel and if Dean suddenly allowed chick-flick moments since he became buddies with Castiel.

Anyways, he could feel this righteous rage building in his chest and he definitely wasn’t in the right headspace when he challenged the angel. He was looming over Castiel, thankful for his height advantage, before he became cognizant that he was even in motion, “Look, this is family business. I didn’t ask you to barge in,” Sam wanted to snarl but he kept his voice as even as possible.

“If this is family business, then I’m most likely required rather than you,” Castiel annunciated everything calmly but still Sam could sense this threatening energy emanating from him in waves, “Why would Dean need you? When have you have been there when he needed you? You are not his family, you threw that into his face when you walked out on him,” that’s when Sam punched him. He broke his hand.

There were also some cups that were broken in the process and Sam was kicked out of Mo’s.

* * *

  
Sam should have figured that being a private investigator would grant his brother the necessary skills to find his home address, especially since that address was listed in the phonebook. What he did not plan on though was Jess finding him in his study to whisper,

     “There’s this black car idling outside the house, and it hasn’t moved in twenty-minutes.”

Sam immediately felt dread and bile pool at the pit of his stomach. Instinctively he knew that if anything went badly during this exchange, it was going to result in awkward introductions and a barrage of questions from both Jess and Dean. Dean who never met Jessica, and if luck was on Sam’s side, didn’t even know that he had gotten married.

There was no fucking way that Sam could just spring his marriage on Dean, if Dean hadn’t already found out, and not expect a fallout. A fallout which could lead to him never seeing his brother again.

Jess, though was still staring at him with this wide, frightened expression that had him out of his seat assuring her that he would handle it and instructing her to stay inside the house.

Sam couldn’t fathom why Dean would seek him out in the first place. Castiel appeared to be a guard dog. A guard dog with wings who hated Sam and felt like a brick wall when you punched him.

Nevertheless, the moon glittered across the unmistakable hood of the Impala. When Sam knocked on the window of the car, Dean jumped a few inches in the drivers sear before sheepishly rolling down the window.

“H-hi ya, Sammy,” he grinned up at Sam, “I brought beer. Wanted to say sorry bout your hand. Must be a b-bitch to work with.”Which yeah, Sam totally conceded it was a pain to try to work with his right hand in a cast.

“W-w-wanna have a few beers with me Sammy?”

And then Sam faced a dilemma. He did sort of want to do drinking with Dean, even if their last outing landed him in cast. However, he couldn’t just invite him inside. Swallowing guilt, he rubs that back of his head absently.

“You wanna go to your place, mine’s a wreck. Work stuff everywhere, ‘yknow.”

Though Dean’s face fell a tiny bit, he acquiesced easily. “S-s-sure thing S-sam.” Sam nods once, mutters something about grabbing his jacket before striding back into the house.

He crafted a proper excuse to sell to Jess, but she obviously was still fretting over stranger-danger. She came bounding out of the dining room where she must have been peeping through the curtains.

“Sam, baby, what’s going on?” she grabbed him and twined her arms around his waist.

“Nothing, s’nothing. Just an old buddy of mine. He was on the phone, he said sorry for scaring you. I’m gonna go get a few drinks with him,” Sam hoped his tone had just the right shade of sincerity. Jess pulled away to stare at him incredulously.

“Again? Sam, you just went drinking like a week ago.”

“And what I’m bound to you day and night. God, Jess sometimes I feel like your prisoner,” she recoiled under this verbal onslaught before whispering a quiet, “okay, go”.

She walked back into the house while Sam walked out of it. While it obliterated his heart to speak to his wife so viciously, he couldn’t deny the truth of his words. This admission, that being settled in a long term home that did not satisfy him, only further infuriated him. So ensnared by his ire, he did not realize he forgot his jacket until he was sitting in the car with Dean. Thankfully though his brother decided not to mention it.

 

 

The silence in the car buzzed pleasantly and Sam slipped into familiar ease as Dean drove to his apartment.

Only when they were pulling in the parking, an odd orange hue cast upon the road by a lone street lamp, did Sam think to ask, “hey, is it just going to be me and you tonight?”

The connection and companionship between Dean and the angel was so obvious it was practically blinding, so it made sense to figure that Sam would have to spend a very tense evening with an incensed angel breathing down his neck. And tonight, Sam didn’t really desire to be an awkward third wheel. The guy that had to question all the secret communication and ask about jokes he wouldn’t understand because he wasn’t there.

Dean just nodded slightly, “mmhmm, just me and you b-baby brother,” and suddenly Sam’s chest lightened and his pants tightened just a little. God only knew how many times Dean had called him baby brother: when Sam was fourteen Dean would call him a “baby” to provoke an all-out wrestling match and at seventeen Dean would whisper “baby brother” in his ear so reverently he could have heard the blind devotion even if he had been born deaf.

“Why? Is Cas out or something?” not that Sam had a real interest in seeing Castiel in the flesh, but he still probed.

“S-s-sure, he leaves a l-l-lot. Has h-heaven stuff to h-help out with when he isn’t w-watching out for me,” Dean answered quietly and subdued like this was a piece of his life he didn’t enjoy but accepted. His voice had the same morose tone like it did when he was nineteen and Dad would leave for a hunt without him. They were now parked but Sam didn’t make a move to get out and neither did Dean.

“So, you’re by yourself a lot.” Sam didn’t really phrase it as a question but he left it open-ended simultaneously hoping that Dean would correct him and praying that Dean hadn’t found someone else to fill the apparent holes in his life.

It made Sam selfish, but his brain repelled the idea that Dean could replace Sam with somebody else.

His brother just shrugged, grabbed the beer, and said, “C’mon man, drinking time.” Sam couldn’t agree more as he followed Dean into the apartment. Conveniently located on the lowest floor so that they could quickly vacate the premise if the need arose, which while Sam was a child, the need arose more than once and altogether more times than was necessary.

Beside the familiar placement though and the charms to keep anything evil at bay, his brother’s apartment differed vastly from the motel rooms they grew up in.

The apartment had chic little modern decorations and matching furniture, so Sam figured it was probably fully furnished when Dean moved in. Still, the soft creamy carpet and low ceilings made the environment kinda closed in, but not in an oppressive way, more like really cozy. Cozy like the Impala in the winters when Dad would crank up the heat and Sam burrowed on Dean’s lap trying to soak in delicious body heat.

The place didn’t seem to match his macho, über masculine brother, but Dean seemed content with his surrounding, a proud set to his shoulders.

Once the beer started flowing, Sam focused less on his surrounding and more on the alcohol. He hadn’t indulged in heavy drinking in several years. This binge drinking, the burn down his throat, was a guilty pleasure and a broken promise to himself.

They finished the beer in record time. First they drank in between recounting fragments of their history from the past eight years, Sam telling Dean insane college stories and attempting to ignore Dean’s covert pained expression.

And Dean recounted old hunts, exaggerating the memorable ones with this garbled excitement.

The barriers in his heat melted taking in Dean’s slighted embarrassed ramblings; in those moments with Sam edging the border of being drunk he never felt more in love with someone in his entire life.

Then Dean came in and ruined his chick flick moment by grabbing a bottle of the harder stuff off of a shelf in the kitchen and challenging Sam to a competition. First one truly plastered was the loser and Dean was convinced Sam was a lightweight. The stubborn determination in Sam had him accepting, even while he told himself there was no way he was going to win.

When he felt himself, cheek pressed into the carpet the little bristly fibers poking his face, he knew he had had too much to drink.

There were gears switching in his head and suddenly he was slurring, “De, are you and Cas fucking?”

Above his head the silence spread itself out longer and longer until, “n-no, not really. I k-kissed him once though,” at this Sam struggled to right himself.

     “Did you like kissing him? I guess he would be nice to kiss if you were into that kinda think. Big blue eyes, and that plush pink little mouth. Kinda makes you want to hit him or make out with him at the same time,” Sam was giggling cause kissing Cas seemed a lot more reasonable even though he still pretty much hated the guy—or angel. Whatever.

     “guess s-so. K-k-kissing you is nicer though. P-plus your eyes c-c-change color. I think that’s p-pretty. I missed that,” Dean barely breathed the words out but Sam hummed in contentment.

     “Thought about you all the time, De. When I first left. Couldn’t sleep, needed you there so I could hear you breathe. Still have your pictures in my bag, you’re so beautiful. I missed you, miss you so much,” he didn’t really intend to ramble on but once he started he couldn’t stop.

     “S-sammy, my Sammy. W-w-where ya been, baby. Been so alone w-without you.” Dean pressed a small kiss to Sam’s forehead.

 Dean headed back past the living room and into a door set on the left in this short little hallway. Blearily, Sam got to his feet and followed. His brother stripped his tee-shirt and jeans off and Sam moved to follow his surrounding tilting and swaying with his movements. Once he was suitably undressed, he slid into the bed behind Dean.

Though once Sam threw an arm around his waist, he turned to face Sam.

His eyes shone brightly in the dark as he drunkenly mumble stutters out, “You g-g-gonna tell me ‘bout the w-wu-wedding ring or why you don’t w-want to introduce me to y-your wife. Is it, is it b-b-because I used to be a h-hu-hunter, you’re brother, because,” he pauses then breathes, “because of my s-stutter?”

Sam didn’t know how to respond, there was truth to Dean’s accusation. Granted Sam wasn’t ashamed of Dean, hell he didn’t know how he felt.

Sam tried to answer, and after minutes of no proper words coming, Dean nodded once. A warped understanding flooding his face with naked disappointment and anguish.

He rolled away from Sam, and with his back to him and said, “sleep it off Sam, then get the hell out.”

 

  
Dean knew that he needed to talk to Cas, to try to grasp a timeframe of how long this Milo investigation would last before they could get out of town. He also needed to drift off to sleep first, and that just didn’t happen.

Then Sam interrupted most likely half-conscious, “How did ya get the stutter?”

Dean didn’t know why Sam decided to bring that up now.

     “Shut up, Sam. Go to sleep,” but then Sam rolled over and pulled Dean to look at him. Sam appeared a little more sober and his mammoth hands burned against the bare flesh of Dean’s chest.

     “Please De. I know I don’t deserve it, but please,” and damn right Sam didn’t deserve this.

This truth that scarred Dean emotionally and physically. There had been no one—no Dad or Bobby or most importantly no Sam—there to soothe him when he screamed himself silent in the middle of the night.

     “It wasn’t a hunt?” Sam began rubbing circles on Dean’s belly, dragging the blunt edges of his nails across the sensitive plans of his sides.

     “N-no,” and the muscles in his stomach flexed as if he were going to vomit, but instead words spewed from his mouth.

     “At-t-tack, assault, or w-w-whatever the hell you’re s-s-supposed to call it. Group of g-g-guys, they uh, d-did stuff to m-mu-me,” Sam didn’t have to graduate from Stanford to know they had gang raped his brother, “and one t-t-tried to off me. They only m-m-m-managed to b-bang my head against the p-pavement a few times. When I went unconscious the idiots thought I d-died,” he paused, “sometimes it’s like what they did did kill me”.

Dean fought tears valiantly but eventually even he couldn’t fight the shaking. He didn’t dare look at Sam because his baby brother hadn’t said anything probably so disgusted he didn’t know what to do.

So yeah, Dean flinched when gigantor arms grabbed him and laid him across Sam’s chest. Sam’s jaw twitched, an explosive fury barely restrained, and Dean couldn’t handle the rage being directed at him.

     “ ‘m sorry Sam, I s-s-shouldn’t have,” but he couldn’t pinpoint exactly why he felt contrite, only that he did.

     “Oh, baby,” Sam groaned, shock making his face go lax. “There is nothing for you to be sorry about. What they did to you was vile, and I will find them and rip out their hearts with my bare teeth. I swear nothing will happen to you,” he added as an afterthought, “if you still want me around.”

Dean didn’t answer in words or really in actions either. He just continued to lay there in Sam’s arms unmoving and after a while dropped into a half-drunken slumber the confession eking out of him the purest form of exhaustion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Kudos are high fives and comments are love.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry about it taking almost a month for me to update. However, this fic is all but done, I should post the last chapter this week. 
> 
> Warnings: More smut in this chapter, and I used the f-word quite frequently. 
> 
> Also, there is a brief Sastiel moment, just for fun.

Around 5:30 in the morning, Sam’s biological clock started messing around, pulling him out of dreams filled with warm, silky flesh that made his cock stiffer than a tire iron. Nonetheless, it was time for his morning jog and years of never missing a run internally programmed him. 

Yet, after last night, Dean’s emotions spilling messily between them a confessional fixed in his brother’s bed, there was not a single force that existed that could keep him from being there when Dean woke up. 

Distantly, awareness crept in the back of his mind and he knew there should be a call made to Jess to apologize. He needed to assuage her worries, but that call would have to be made later. Now a sleepy contentment seeped into his limbs.

Sam liked his brother’s bed, how the sheets seemed to swallow him whole. Dean though looked strangled, his face pinched in unconscious disgruntlement and his arm twitched as if he wanted to flail around or punch something. 

Sam could practically envision Dean’s nightmare. A crowd of men, helplessness suffused with panic, pain that doesn’t crest or ebb, a voice screaming not loud enough for anyone to hear. Sam used his weight advantage to still Dean a bit before pushing up his brother’s soft white tee-shirt. 

Like last night, he started rubbing large circles on Dean’s stomach, pressing harder into the flesh when his hands strayed toward Dean’s boxers. He remembered how Dean used to pet his belly to soothe the bad dreams away; before he hit puberty and just the sight of Dean’s hands gave him a boner. After a few minutes under Sam’s ministrations, Dean began gasping quietly but before Sam could pull his hand back his brother opened his eyes partially,  
“S-s-sammy, shhhh, come ‘ere baby b-br-brother, got of you.” 

And, yeah, half-asleep Dean must have assumed by seeing Sam that they were still children. Sam didn’t see the point in disrupting that fantasy. Rather, he did his best to tuck his head under Dean’s chin; his brother wrapped a protective arm around his waist and they both eased into a more restful slumber. 

The second time Sam woke up, his hangover managed to catch up and beat the shit out him. Sunlight pierced his brain whenever he opened his eyes and though he wanted to lounge in bed for the entire morning, there were matters to attend to. 

Also, Dean had told him to “get the hell” out of his apartment, and despite Dean’s admission Sam knew his brother wouldn’t cave so easily. Trepidation coating his throat in acid and making his pulse race, Sam swung his legs out of bed just barely able to follow his ears to the kitchen (there wasn’t enough love and money in Texas that would make him open his eyes right now—everything fucking hurt). 

“Y-y-you look l-like hell,” Dean’s voice strained in an attempt to sound as normal as possible. 

“’mmm feels ten times worse, De. Never having a drinking contest with you ever,” Sam snarked back with a wince at his horrendous morning breath. He cracked his eyes open a fraction of an inch when Dean handed him a mug along with two Alieves and accepted the coffee with a grateful murmur. Several moments came and went of quiet where neither brother spoke. There wasn’t a pressure to immediately address all that had been spoken the night before. 

Coincidentally, however, a person could only nurse one cup of coffee so long before an awkwardness infiltrates the room. 

“So…” Sam began, his voice lacking the confidence he exudes while presenting a case in a meeting with Jason and the other partners of the firm. “Should we talk about what happened last night?” He intended to expound on that though but Dean interrupted. 

“I should drive you home now.” There wasn’t anything in Dean’s tone that suggested this was anything but a command and with a resigned nod, Sam got up to put his clothes on. 

In his heart, Sam understood exactly why Dean kicked him out. But, it didn’t sting any less when Dean pulled up to Sam’s pretty, manicured patch of land. He didn’t say a word to Sam in farewell, just nodded a quick goodbye before screeching away to the suddenly blaring notes of one of his favorite songs. 

Then there was Jess, who had recently been in tears judging by the red rimming her eyes. 

“You were gone all night,” she announced in a quiet voice void of all emotion. 

How could he explain himself out of the truth? How could he? When the truth, his truth, was a story that belonged in a madhouse. 

—Yes, I did run off all night. With who? Oh yeah, just my brother. No, I don’t talk about him much. Haven’t seen him in a while either until he moved here. Yeah, lives just minutes away now. I was with him last night. Getting drunk, reminiscing, waxing poetry about how insanely fucking gorgeous Dean is. The best part, babe, I’m in love with him. Have been for as long as I can remember, why it’s the only thing I can remember—

Sam just lies. 

“I’m sorry. I got pretty wasted last night, I just crashed with my friend. I should have called, ‘m sorry. Knew I needed to apologize but I’ve not been myself lately and I needed time to get my head straight. Still, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry about what I said.” 

Jessica appeared to believe him. She knew him well, but didn’t force the issue. 

“Okay, Sam,” she speaks with an air of finality and reaches up to peck him on the mouth. The kiss lingered, however, and after a moment Jess caught his bottom lip between her teeth. A trick she perfected in college, something that almost invariably led to a good, quick fuck. He kissed back for a minute, trying to muster as much enthusiasm as possible, before backing away. 

“Need to shower” and he excuses himself as gently as possible. 

While in the bathroom, he studies his reflection pondering why he felt so out of sorts with himself lately. It should not be so difficult to live in the same town with his brother and his wife at the same time. Barring certain lusts that lurked within his cesspool of a soul, his brother’s presence alone should have no effect on his sexual appetite. 

In some instances, it hasn’t. His skin crawls with unresolved tension but Jess just isn’t what was going to satiate his thirst. He takes one look at the girl that he is married to, and all he is aware of is the fact that she is married to a coward. She married Sam, a boy frightened by desires that surged through his blood too bold, too black, too hot. 

Yet, those desires weren’t stopped by Jess; she was just a normal girl that Sam could shield himself behind. As his fortress, she was supposed to keep his incestuous thoughts at bay. And, she couldn’t. Couldn’t be a Band-Aid or a beard. Dean just had to blow into town, and with a slight huff and puff all the damn walls went tumbling down. 

He had to run a bath for himself, couldn’t shower with the cast, but there existed a self-indulgent gratefulness for the time alone. 

Just fifteen minutes of solitude, Sam would sell his soul for it. Then he grimaced, John suddenly springing to mind. There was more grief, he figured, that he should feel concerning the death of his father. 

A timid knock rapped against the wooden fibers of their bathroom door before Jess slipped into the room. 

“Do you want some help with that?” She tried to contort her face into that devilish little grin, same grin that made Sam fall in love with her, but fell just shy of alluring.

The answer was no, Sam didn’t want any company. Currently, seclusion happened to be number one on the list of necessities in Sam’s life. 

She didn’t give heed to the pleading in his eyes anyways; before he could send her away, she knelt before the bathtub. Conceding, he laid on his back while she dumped water on his chest. Water droplets made wet trails down his torso before drip-dropping onto his things. Closing his heavy lids, he sighed as she soaped up her hands and vigorously scrubbed him clean. 

Somewhere, there should have been some weirdness about being bathed like a child. Still, as he eased under her hands, he found himself able to overlook all previous reservations. In the dimness behind his eyelids, he possessed the freedom to contrive what fantasies struck his fancy. Free to let his mind roam to the years when it was his brother’s calloused palms skimming over his skin, cleaning him up, patching wounds and scrapes. 

When he felt the hand on his cock, his brain just drifted off-line while he swam through drowsy pleasure and memories.

His appendages no longer cooperated with him, and he couldn’t even find the energy to thrust into Jess’ slick palms. She took care of him with practiced efficiency, getting him desperate within a few minutes. He bit his lip when everything became too good, only took a few moments for him to come all over her hand. Blood welled up from his bite though: he had crammed the beginning sounds of his brother’s name down his throat when he came, clamping teeth down to imprison that one damning word. 

“You need to call into work, someone named Andrew Tanner kept calling the house this morning. Said something about an important case and that he couldn’t get a hold of you.” Which of course this would be the first thing Jess said while Sam’s head still lingered in post-orgasmic clouds. Nonetheless, that was enough to drag him down to reality. Because, fuck, he forget all about his job, the case, hell he forget about real life this morning. 

Tanner needed Sam’s head on a pike like he needed water and porn. Sam accommodatingly managed to behead himself and present his dismembered cranium to Tanner on a platter. Not only did he look unprofessional by not being accessible, despite his insistence that he would be permanently attached to his cellphone during the two weeks he took off for his arm to heal, but his own wife had no idea of his whereabouts to provide a sufficient explanation. 

“Sorry, baby. Look I’ll call right now,” Sam moved to climb out of the bathtub but Jess forced him down with a hand on his chest. 

“Who was it? Last night, who did you spend the night with?” Her voice remained neutral, yet the accusation unobtrusively slinked behind the words. 

“What exactly are you asking?”

“Sam, was there something you didn’t understand? Just tell me who you were with last night?” 

Sam shook his head and with steadfast determination lifted himself out of the tub. “Look, Jess I don’t have time to talk about this. I’ve got to check in with work.” She just followed him into their bedroom, a room which suddenly felt starkly cold compared to the comfortable little setup at Dean’s place. Sam walked into the closet and began throwing on clothes , with Jess trailing him attempting to ferret out his secrets. 

“No, Sam. You’re not too busy to answer a simple question. God, who were you with? Why have you been acting so shifty?,” Why indeed, Sam thought to himself, “Just talk to me, Sam. Whatever it is, I would feel better knowing about it. Please, babe.” 

He just huffed a sarcastic snort, “Talking is a freaking joke,” he muttered. 

“Sam!” Jess rapidly approached the ending of her patience, and Sam innately acknowledged that this was the tone she used when she scolded the children at her work.  
Just then his phone beeped. For a moment, Sam thought Jess would race him for it. Challenge sprawled all across her face and still Sam went into the bathroom to dig his phone out of his pocket. 

Simple text, unknown number, You doing ok? –D 

The three words that perfectly realigned his world. For a moment, he didn’t know how to respond and then before his brain even had a chance to catch up, he replied, No, need to see you again. 

Didn’t even take Dean a minute, Emergency?

“Samuel Winchester, who the hell are you texting right now?” Calculated risks, Sam needed to take one right now. Had to appease either a raging wife or an anxious brother. Flicking a glance at Jess for utilizing his full name, he texted back, No, Dean. Just gotta see you man. 

He finally gave Jess his full attention again and could just smell the indignation rolling off of her in waves.

“I’m not having an affair, if that’s what you want to know. I’m fine,” he stressed the word fine hoping to add credibility, “It’s okay. Just trust me, Jess.” 

“Trust you,” she cut in, “Sam, how can I trust you when you start keeping secrets and acting so differently.” To which, he did not have a decent answer, or rather, there wasn’t an answer he could willingly give her. Then mercifully, his phone rang flinging him into a minor crisis. 

If that was Dean calling, he would have to be pretty damn creative to take the call and not make Jessica any more suspicious. His arms felt wooden and his fingers disjointed as anticipation made his heart gallop and he answered the phone. 

However, it was not his brother on the phone. Freaking Tanner finally tracked him down. Sighing wearily, Sam committed himself to getting a dressing down. 

“You didn’t answer the phone this morning and I just called the house again about thirty minutes ago,” which could have been possible, Sam and Jess were known for ignoring their phone, “Winchester, I don’t know if you are aware but you have a big freaking lawsuit in your hands. So you need to get off your ass and do your fucking job. You haven’t even contacted the damn client. Milo’s been sitting at home, waiting for you to call him, and get this process moving, so what the hell have you been doing?” 

By the time he’s finished with his rant Sam imagines a line of spittle running from his mouth. Being chastised by Tanner, Sam bets its gives his boss all kinds of happy feels to correct him. 

“Yeah, look my performance has not been stellar. But that’s not the type of worker that I am, so yeah I’ll pull it together.”

His phone emitted a text chirp and he doesn’t even excuse himself before he check the text. 

Busy now, can pick you up tomorrow, around eight. 

Easy as sin to text back—See you then. 

A clearing of the throat startled Sam out of his distraction. Sam made the necessary assurances to his boss and then hung up. 

In lieu of resuming his argument with Jess, he went to his office and closed the glass doors. Begrudgingly, he concedes that it is crucial he schedules a face-to-face with Milo immediately to at least hear the man’s tale and hopefully flesh out his officially statement. It would most likely be more professional to call Milo in person, yet Sam didn’t really have time for that so instead he shot out a nicely worded email to the email address listed in the file. 

When Milo responded no more than two minutes later, Sam was riddled with guilt as his client was most likely camped out in front of his computer and by his phone waiting for him. 

For that reason, after Sam agreed to drive over to Milo’s place on Thursday, two days from now. Sam immersed himself in police reports and creating a list of evidence to present at the preliminary hearing. 

Coordinating with Tanner happened to be extraordinarily useful as Tanner appeared to have spent multiple hours researching similar cases and provided a steady flow of useful information. Sam also felt a uncountable emotion as he acknowledged that Dean and Castiel provided the majority of background material concerning George Milo and his victim. They provided statements from pertinent witness and forscenic evidence which meant less leg work for Sam. 

Clearly, though, even his brother managed to do his job sufficiently while Sam floundered aimlessly attempting to “find himself”. Because even with the responsibility of keeping Milo’s ass out of jail, Sam couldn’t pause, ignore, or jar the nervous tension as hours clicked on nosily above his head. Napping for a few hours, he slept in a light, fitful state before getting back to work. 

He didn’t bother eating much and worked until his eyes blurred. But at 7:45, he rose out of his seat, cracking his cramping joints as he stretched. Popping his head into the bedroom, he finds Jess thrown across their bed, absorbed in some Stephen King novel. He had always marveled at the irony of his wife’s passion for horror novels. She glances at him after a moment, attention snagged by his shifty-footed movements and she quirks an inquisitive eyebrow. 

“You’re here to tell me you are going out again. But you don’t want me to worry right.” There wasn’t much heat in her words, it was just a resigned claim. She had a fairly decent idea of the extent of his stubborn pride. 

He opened his mouth but she didn’t need him to talk her through this. 

“I know you want my trust. It’s not an affair even though you can’t even tell me who this person is. Why, Sam? Is she a friend? Your secretary? Someone you picked up from a bar?”  
Then the doorbell rang, and unbidden Sam’s tongue slipped. A whisper glided out coating the air, it was close to religious when he said, “Dean” and Jess pounced.  
“Dean, like your brother Dean?” 

His glance at her must have been confirmation enough because she laughed a maniacal, relieved sound erupting from her throat and she hopped from the bed to hug him. Which was a strange leap of emotions considering. 

“Sam, what’ so bad about your brother being here? He’s the “friend” you’ve been catching up with, isn’t he?” she didn’t leave enough of a pause for Sam to even formulate a retort, “Gosh, I can’t believe I can finally meet him.” 

Honestly, it was a bit frightening watching her entire demeanor shift like that. Scratch that, everything about this was frightening. How can he prepare to smash these two people together? 

Bounding out of their bedroom, she goes to the front door and practically slings its wide open. If Dean is surprised to see Jess instead of Sam he doesn’t show it. His poker face apparently has been perfected and there’s no flick of an expression that Sam can decipher. 

Suddenly, Jess appears to be a little awestruck and then Sam knows why. Instead of the usual plaid, Dean’s wearing a nicer pair of these slouchy jeans and an honest-to-god sweater which clings to his broad shoulders. Plus, it’s this spectacular forest color and with the falling sun shining behind him he is illuminated in this ethereal way. His perfection is dazzling, but he nervously clears his throat at all the staring. 

Jess holds her hand out demurely, “Hi, I’m Jessica.” 

“Of c-c-course you are,” Dean smiles at her appreciatively, face not even dimming due to his slight stutter, “little S-s-sammy, did w-w-well for himself.” Sam couldn’t help but hold his breath and pray she didn’t offend him in any way. Though, he probably shouldn’t have even worried because she had a heart and just giggled as Dean winked suggestively. His easy charm palpable.

Sam still hasn’t said anything too engrossed in Dean, personal conflict be damned. But Dean glances at him for instructions, guidance, a warning, hell if Sam knew. He cleared his throat. 

“De,” he didn’t know why the nickname came ghosting out in front of Jess, but Dean perked up at it, “you wanna come inside.” 

Jess grabs Dean’s hand in excitement before she can stop herself and pulls him in the front door. Dean’s smile is easy and pleasant as he turns to Sam. 

“Your girl’s got fire, Sammy-boy. I like her,” and Sam, well he can’t gauge his brother’s sincerity. Jess leads them into the living room and then asks,  
—You boys want anything? 

And Dean smiles at her, brightly dazzling, “Sweetheart, a drink would just make my day.” She grins back and dances off to the kitchen. 

Sam moves next to Dean on the couch, their knees and thighs pressed against one another. 

“You okay?” Sam asked low, concerned near Dean’s ear. Dean didn’t really respond to that but answers, “She’s good for you, Sam,” then reaffirms, “I like her.” 

Sam brought a hand up and brushes his knuckles against Dean’s face, down his jawline. “You look beautiful. Fucking amazing,” he breathes, “for me, right Dean.” Dean might have replied but Jess filtered back into the room with two cokes in her hand. One for Dean, who accepted gratefully and one for her and Sam. She perched on Sam’s knees, while she faced Dean unmarred curiosity staining her features. 

“So, Dean you been keeping Sam out of trouble. Got worried when he didn’t come home last night but he’s just with you, right?”

Sam should have figured she would attempt to finalize her investigations. Dean, though, played along, like there wasn’t something feverish, fierce, and tense between him and Sam right now. Like they were just normal brothers. 

“Don’tcha w-w-worry b-bout Sammy. He’s g-g-got it good-d-d here. Not g-gonna mess around on a g-g-girl like you. I’d k-k-kick his ass for you,” he lowered his eyebrows at her conspiratorially as Sam’s stomach clenched. 

He didn’t know what he expected if Jess and Dean were ever to meet. But, this brotherly respect and fondness that Dean seemed to immediately harbor for Jess was definitely not it. Jessica hums making peace, accepting Dean into her life, keenness making her loose and relaxed in Sam’s lap. 

Sam is viciously aware of the depth of devotion both of them have for him. Their willingness to co-exist amicably to make Sam happy. Which, hell yeah he could get used to this. This familial environment where he seems to possess everything he ever strived for. 

It would all be perfect, if he didn’t have this urge—fingers itching—to peel Dean out of his clothes. Since Jess had been sufficiently satisfied that Sam was not screwing another woman, she miraculously remembered,  
“Oh, I interrupted. You guys had plans didn’t you.” 

To which Sam glanced at Dean wondering if there was formulated plans rattling in his brain. With as nice as Dean looked, surely there was. 

A hint of embarrassment made Dean stumbled a bit more on the first words of his sentence,  
“W-w-w-well, uh, I t-t-thought m-maybe since I found this p-p-place. We c-could, uh, g-go see a drive-in m-m-movie, if you w-want, like w-w-when we were k-kids.” 

Leave it to Dean to find the most and least favorable option all rolled together. Sam wanted to go to a drive in movie with Dean. His brother had been right, it brought back their childhood, and more noticeably teenage years when they watched hundreds of movies at drive-in theaters. Technically, they were Dean’s way of taking Sam out on “dates”. He used to buy so much candy that he tasted like confection sugar and they would swipe beer from Dad’s supply. Invariably, they would motor through the beer, get tipsy, before flopping over into the backseat so Dean could suck Sam’s soul out through his cock. 

Jess’ noise of approval woke him up to the present.  
“Yeah, Dean, sounds good. Just like when we were little.” Jess shooed them out of the door after giving Sam a quick peck on the mouth and insisting that he at least call if he was going to crash with Dean. 

When they climbed into the Impala, Sam opened with, “I know that must have been sudden and I’m sorry.” Dean didn’t spare a glance for him. 

“It’s f-f-fine, Sam. I’m g-glad I got to m-m-meet her. Still very p-pissed you didn’t tell m-m-me though.” 

And, yeah Dean had every right to still hate him over that and yet, “You, uh, came tonight,”. Maybe not the best choice of words because Dean snorted and merely nodded his assent. 

They were halfway through the horror flick, pretty cheesy, especially considering some of the evil shit he saw in the earlier half of his life, when he turned to face Dean.  
His brother nursed his third or fourth beer and refused to look at Sam until he shook his shoulder slightly. 

His green eye eyes shone differently in the artificial light of the movie when they snapped to Sam’s face, not really with real annoyance or malice. But he was full of apprehension. They had been tap dancing over this since Dean first came to the door. “Can I touch you?” Sam whispered though not sure why because the windows were rolled up.

Dean closed his eyes and Sam thought that that signaled a victory until Dean rasped out a, “no, Sammy. Not tonight.” Which threw his little brother for a loop. 

“Well, why not? I mean you took me on a date like you used to and you dressed so pretty,” Dean actually winced at that, “Plus you keep biting your bottom lip like when we were teenagers and you wanted me to kiss you but didn’t know how to ask”. By the end Sam’s voice had gone all gravelly but Dean snapped back, “W-w-what do you m-mean, why n-n-n-not? Because I fucking m-m-met your wife today, and she’s b-beautiful, t-t-t-treats you right, w-wu-worries bout you. B-bet s-s-she’s smart as hell. And she g-g-g-gu-gives you normal. What you w-w-wanted when you lef-f-ft me.”

“But, Dean, you’re back now,”

“And, that gives you p-p-permission to fuck b-b-both of us until I l-leave again or until you k-k-kick me out of your life because I’m not g-g-good, not good enough for y-you.”

Sam ceased his shouting immediately. “What do you mean not good enough?”

“You k-k-know exactly what I m-meant you too s-smart, arrogant s-s-son of a bitch.” 

It made Sam slam out of the car because, just no no, that’s not what it was. Dean’s worth and love, well call Sam selfish, but it didn’t factor in when he decided to stay away and avoid his family like the bloody Black Death. 

Except, yes, at seventeen, he knew his talents were better spent elsewhere than in the life that he had. With a brain like his, he could offer more to himself at college than he could wasting his skills on exacting revenge and hunting. 

He pounded on the Impala’s roof because Dean misconstrued the last eight years while also summing them up spectacularly. Additionally, he felt like an asshole and an animal for coming onto Dean and then to have his own “normalcy” thrown back into his face. 

So, his frustration manifested into more pounding until he heard the telling creak and knew Dean was getting out of the car. 

Childish, Sam will admit his actions were juvenile, but when Dean got out of the car to yell at him presumably for trying to fuck up his baby Sam weaved through the cars towards the concessions and away from Dean. 

However, his brother persistently dogged him until he could grip Sam and spin him around. Sam expected fury yet Dean pulled his impenetrable mask back on and just calmly said, “Let me drive you home.” 

Sam shook his head and pushed out of Dean’s grip, “but that’s just it Dean. I don’t want to go back there, I wanna be with you, wherever you are,” he spun his brother around. 

Backed him against the impassive, concrete wall of the concessions booth and placed his arms on either side of Dean’s head, “I want to touch you in all those places you love,” he leaned next to Dean’s ear, “Remember how much you loved fucking yourself on my fingers. How you would beg for it when I sucked your cock. How I made you come untouched that one time, when you were nineteen, cause I got my tongue all the way in your hole.” Still, Dean pushed at his chest when he tried to grab his brother’s hips. 

“G-g-get the fuck off,” and Sam could hear the panic in his voice, so he took three big steps back looking hurt, “D-do you ever c-c-consider w-what I w-w-want?” Dean studies Sam’s face, scrutinizing all the naked pain, the shame and the lust on top of all that. 

“s’not like I d-d-don’t w-want to g-give in to you. Cause I d-do, but S-s-sam, man, I have to have s-some s-s-sort of self-preservation skills. Some p-p-p-pride. It wasn’t just a f-f-fling w-when w-we were k-kids, though that’s w-wu-w-what you c-called it right b-b-before you left.”

So, yes, as much as Sam didn’t want to remember how could he drown that memory as it crested over him as suddenly as the waves do when the current it too strong. Battering him as he heard himself say at 17,  
—Damn, it Dean. Why shouldn’t I go to college? You really think I can pass this opportunity up for some incestuous fling. 

“h-hurt, when you left then, Sam, and it w-w-will hurt again,” Dean couldn’t reign in the tremors in his voice and he broke down pleading, “c-c-can’t d-do it again. I’m not s-s-strong enough to d-do that again Sammy.”

Sam understood, understood that he couldn’t scrub away the agony Dean shouldered for years. 

“m’sorry. Just once, please, just let me kiss you once. Then you can take me home,” Dean cast him a look, and Sam knew he was beyond selfish at this point. Dean pushed into Sam, tilting his face up and Sam knew it was an acquiesce, a small victory, but one nonetheless. He didn’t take time to savor it, though he should have. Just captured his brothers mouth in a harsh kiss making Dean whine into his lips. He took the opportunity to swipe his tongue across Dean’s upper lip before plundering his mouth and he licked all the beer flavoring off the back of his brother’s teeth. Then, just as suddenly, Dean pulled away. 

Dean nodded and they headed back silently. When they pulled into Sam’s driveway intuitively, Sam recognized the finality of this goodbye, “Thank you for tonight, for everything,” he whispered. 

Dean just wanted to nod and then get the hell out of here, but he heard the wavering notes in Sam’s voice. So in the driveway of Sam’s home where Sam’s faithful little wife perched, inwardly pleased at making progress in her marital relationship, Dean clambered into Sam’s lap. 

Sam stunned by this sudden armful of big brother whimpered as Dean settled down onto his vaguely painful erection. 

“Thought we weren’t doing this, now we are doing this here,” Sam gasped out as he did his best to thrust against Dean.

“N-n-no, we aren’t d-d-doing that,” big emphasis on the word “that” as Dean attempted to still Sam’s movements, “here. Just ending this d-date properly, saying g-g-goodbye,” he pants.

“ m’kay, De. Just kiss me again, like a goodbye kiss,” Sam reasoned pitifully, but Dean leaned into his brother’s space and pressed into Sam’s oh, so pink lips. It all came to a jarring end though as Sam began sucking on Dean’s tongue and ran his hands down Dean’s back to then appreciatively grip his ass. Dean yelped somewhat, and quickly scrambled to his side of this car. 

“Get out, Sam.” Just like that. 

“Bye, Dean,” and he hastened to add despite his harsh breathing, “I just, don’t forget that I love you, cause I do. And I know I’m asshole, and I don’t deserve you. But I do love you, so much. And I’ll be here if you need anything or,” now he felt a little more hesitant, “are feeling low.” 

“Goodbye, Sammy,” passed from his lips quietly, no stutter, before the door closed. Sam got out feeling emotionally scourged, gutted, and too horny for his own good. He could barely lift his hand to wave with grief so potent his eyes stung and his throat ached. 

The Impala drove up his street and Sam wondered if he would ever see it again. 

 

“Hello, Sam”. 

Sam practically leaped out of his skin while Castiel gazed at him quite unconcerned with his violent reaction.  
“May we talk for a minute?”

“Why? I thought you hated me for hurting Dean.”

“It is not in an angel’s true nature to hold grudges like humans. We are taught to not be judgmental. I think perhaps I judged you based on your past transgressions rather than the man you have become.”

Which, Sam thinks to himself, isn’t much better. There hasn’t been a deluge of transformation that occurred since he walked out when he was 17 to the present day. Sam still is able to shove away the person he loves most in the world while still harboring feelings which overwhelm him with lust whenever he gives them barely a thought. So no, the man he has become is still as fucked up as he was when he was a teenager. 

“Sam, I know in your heart you have an immense love for you brother,” which Castiel has no clue what kind of love lurks there, “That is why I wish to confer with you.” But Sam didn’t have any interest in conferring. Action, his body craved something physical: fucking, fighting, fleeing. Not conferring. 

“Last time we talked you broke my bones,” Sam leered at Castiel, getting too close and feeling wildly out of control. 

“I did no such thing. You attacked me, and harmed yourself, Samuel.” His full name stated in the deep, holy voice of an angel of the freaking lord should not have turned him on any more than he already was. But it did. 

He surged forward, not knowing why he was doing it or even what he was doing. Castiel didn’t even flinch when Sam got into his space, clenching onto both the white button down and ratty little trench coat. 

“Let go, Sam. I did not come to fight with you and perhaps now is not a good time to talk.” 

“Why wouldn’t it be a good time, huh? Cause Dean’s not here to referee,” and Sam, he just keep pressing closer and closer until he was practically sharing air with the air and still Castiel didn’t move. 

“You don’t want to do what you are doing,” Cas advised solemnly. 

“Really, cause I think I do know what I’m doing. I want to do this, I need to do this. Please let me,” Sam begged and before he could move Castiel kissed him demanding and bruising. 

It didn’t take long. Cas slid his thigh between Sam’s leg and Sam just thrust onto creating friction for his leaking cock. His boxers felt damp and confining, but it didn’t really matter. Cas had two handfuls of his hair and kept pulling, which hurt like hell. But it was what he needed. Cas kissed down the column of his throat, before biting down, and Sam came in his pants. 

“Be careful. Something is not as it should be and yet I cannot identify the source of my uneasiness. Be on guard.” Sam heard the words, but they didn’t have any meaning because, “Cas, you just got me off. Give me a minute to catch up before we confer.” 

“I’m sorry, Sam. I should have given you more recovery time. But I am on a limited schedule because Dean is packing and wants my help.”

“Wait packing, why? And how does an angel know how to make someone come their brains out?” 

“I know because your brother has approached me in a very similar desperate state before, and I learned that he is most easily comforted by physical affections. I assumed you would be much the same. As to the packing, it is because he claims there is another case, somewhere in Missouri, I believe. He intends to leave as soon as possible.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading. More kudos equals a happier ending, comments equal more smut.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam, resignation slumping his shoulders, instructed Castiel, “Take care of him. Don’t leave him so much, he could use to have you around more. To have someone to talk to.” 

Castiel didn’t really acknowledge his statement. There was just a gust of wind blowing into Sam’s face and the angel vanished. 

He couldn’t go inside just yet. Couldn’t face his wife with the knowledge floating in his brain that he propositioned his brother and then got himself off riding Cas’ thigh. Still, his betrayal wasn’t as nearly as distressing as the fact that Dean was leaving. Probably was already gone. 

When he finally slunk into his house, Jess began peppering him with questions. He could only manage a hollow, “Dean’s leaving”. She probed as to why he was certain Dean was skipping town. Besides Castiel’s message, he had a sense of his brother, could predict fairly accurately how Dean would behave in a certain situation. However, he did manage to assure Jess that Dean traveled for work and that he hadn’t run his brother off. 

The last part technically counted as a lie, but regardless, it didn’t matter. Nothing really mattered, at all. Work provided a reprieve from his aching heart. Distracted him from that pit lodged in his stomach and the throbbing that sparked up in his chest whenever he lost himself in his head. He holed himself in his office and pushed his mind brutally to set up a strategy for Milo’s case. Working until his eyes burned because intuitively he recognized that he couldn’t sleep without having a madhouse combination of a nightmare and a wet dream. 

The next morning though, he had to dab one of Jessica’s cosmetic products, something liquidy, onto the dark circles under his eyes before he went to meet Milo. He couldn’t meet his client resembling a cheap, zombie extra in a horror film. 

Sam also remembered his dad drilling into him that a lack of sleep could easily kill a hunter. Only a few seconds delay in reflexes could mean you became a werewolf snack.  
His drive over to Milo’s place, roughly forty-five minutes away, passed without incident. The sun just began rising as he left, the rays descending onto the earth golden and god-like. A hush hung suspended in his car and he consciously scrubbed his mind clean of all thoughts. Entering into an almost hypnotic state, he forced all thoughts of his brother away so they would not plague him all during this meeting. 

Sam noticed an awful smell when he arrived and stood on the front porch of Milo’s squat brick home. Pressing the button, the doorbell only chimed once and then the door was thrown open uncharacteristically wide, the hinges squeaking out a protest. 

George Milo slouched against the door and Sam was stuck by the relative averageness of his features—nothing honestly worth remembering or noting. Or it wasn’t worth noticing, until his eyes flicked completely black and a snarl formed around his mouth. 

“Now, I know you were probably expecting someone else. A young man who is so excited to worm his way out of a murder charge. Not that he is innocent you know. Not an ounce of remorse at the vile things I had him do to that girl, didn’t even flinch when he snapped her neck,” the voice grated out of Milo’s throat and sounded wrong, just hearing it made Sam feel filthy, “’cept I’m much more interesting to play with, Sammy. I bet your brother agrees with me.” 

The demon leers as Sam’s eyebrows furrow in disbelief, because Dean has to be gone. No way, he stuck in town. But then, the demon leans back and calls,  
“Right, Dean.” 

There’s a muffled shout and Sam’s seizes up in panic. “What the hell do you want?” 

“Well, Sammy why don’t you came inside so we can chat?”

Sam brushes past the demon and searches for his brother until he stumbles into the living room. His breath catches in throat. 

On one side of the room, Dean sags against the back of the chair he is bound to. Milo strolled in after Sam, “Looks like I have you by the balls, doesn’t it, Sammy boy.” Sam schooled his features, barely managing to conceal the naked terror. 

“Really, you demonic bastard? You think my brother can’t slip out of a simple pair of cuffs. You’re stupider than you look.”

“Now, Sam you wound me. I’m not one of your low-level, idiotic demons, and I know who I am dealing with. The legendary Dean Winchester. I took some precautions to ensure he stays put. He can slip the cuffs if he wants to but how can he walk on a broken leg.” Sam rushes to his brother and it’s obvious up close that Dean is pale as milk, most likely paralyzed from the shock. 

The demon continued, “So, Sam I repeat my sentiment. I’ve got you by the balls,” he enunciated grotesquely, “but just as extra incentive, so you cooperate, I’ve brought a special friend of yours. Delicious thing.” He winked at Sam, Sam’s stomach sunk into his shoes. 

Jessica is pulled into the room by two large, anonymous-looking guys, also presumably demons. There are tears gliding steadily down her face as the demons hold a knife against her throat.

“Let them go, you sick fuck, and then I will send your ass straight back to pits of hell where you belong,” Sam had to force, fight his voice to not crack and his heart pounded so fast he just knew the demon could probably hear it. 

“Now why would I do that? We haven’t even had any fun yet.” Registering the blank stare from Sam, Milo sighed and pulled up a chair. 

“Sam, my friend. I’m here as your demonic marriage counselor,” and Milo’s snarling smile stretched until it was more of a grimace than anything.

“Sam,” Jess cried out no doubt frightened out of her mind and Sam wanted to reassure her but it was more vital for him to secure an escape at the moment. 

“Yeah. And why do I need marriage counseling?” Sam challenged. 

“Well, don’t bother asking me. You already know. Hell, even your hot ass brother knows why. But sweet little Jessica has no idea of the kinds of sins her darling husband has strung up in his closet, does she?”

“What’s he—it—talking about Sam?” Jess breathes out, wary of the proximity of the steel to her jugular. 

“S-s-sam, Sammy, you d-don’t have to t-t-t-t-tell it anything,” Dean broke in, panting and gasping “’s all m-my fault. D-d-d-didn’t know I was g-g-going after a d-d-damn demon.”  
That had Sam whipping around to stare at his brother to hiss,  
“What the hell, Dean? I thought you didn’t hunt anymore.”

Milo effectively squashed their sidebar as he twitched a finger and Dean started screaming. His yells were hoarse, evidently not the first bout of torture with this particular demon. 

“Stop, stop, oh god, just stop. What you want me to talk, I’ll talk,” Sam spit out. The demon nodded mollified and Dean slumped back limp and sweating. 

“To her, if you please. Spill to darling wifey.” 

Sam squared his shoulders and managing to keep both Dean and Jessica in his view he spewed, “So yeah, I’m a hunter, Jess. Used to hunt monsters, ghosts, all kinds of stuff that goes bump in the night.”

“Not juicy enough, Sam. That’s old news,” the demon whined. 

“Anyways,” Sam began again faster, “my dad left a lot, left me and Dean by ourselves. Taught us to look out for each, to be paranoid, to basically exist in a world just for us,” he tries to explain to Jess with her eyes wide from confusion. 

“Look, Sam. Is it goes to take me putting a bullet through her foot before you tell her the real secret. Four words, simple statement. It’s all I need from you.” Milo had the gun cocked and ready and Sam jumps over himself, “incest, that’s my fucking secret. I fucked my brother and I loved every damn minute.” Milo cackled, and Jess actually shrieked a little but Sam rounds on Milo. 

“That’s what you wanted to hear, how I’m sickeningly in love with Dean. Can’t think of anyone else cause he is always there. No matter who I slept with, I couldn’t fuck him out of my system. Cause he’s the best fucking lay of my life. That what you wanted you, evil son of a bitch. Does that make you happy?” Sam questioned heady with adrenaline and misery. 

Milo’s quiet answer was simple, “No, Sam, not’s as good as I thought it would be. But this will be better,” and he shot Dean in the heart three times in rapid succession. 

 

In the next moment, George Milo’s face slide from glee to panic. One moment he had an expression of victorious mocking and the next Castiel fried the demon’s ass with some angelic mojo. The other two demons threw Jessica to the floor in an attempt to escape but Cas dealt with them as quickly as he finished off Milo. 

None of which registered with Sam as the blood roared in his ears. He untied his brother and scooped him into his arms. Dean didn’t make more than a wheeze of a noise before coughing on his own blood. Sam could barely see past the tears streaming down his face and dripping onto Dean, but he knew that he needed to do something, god anything. 

The rational portion of his brain was aware that there isn’t anything for him to do. He could just hold his brother and witness the consciousness slip from his brother’s eyes. Silent sobs squeezed up into his throat, and he couldn’t get his grief to surface properly; he was left with a sour ache in his throat. 

“Dean, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Sorry. Just sorry. Please forgive me. I love you. What am I going to do without you. Don’t leave me, Dean. Please don’t leave me. Love you. Love you so much.” Sam muttered into his brother’s hair. He pressed kisses into the soft, bristly hair. 

 

A growl worked itself out of his mouth when a hand landed on his shoulder. Not even God could move him at that moment. 

But Castiel’s voice sharply commanded, “Move, Sam. I can heal him.” Sam didn’t move at first but Castiel shifted his body until he had access to Dean. With two fingers to the forehead, Dean’s breath regulated itself, the wounds healed themselves, and the bleeding appeared to ease up. 

It still took several minutes before Dean opened his eyes. 

“Sammy, we gotta get out of here,” were the first words out of his newly-resurrected brother’s mouth. However, Sam couldn’t deny the truth of the words because they all needed to get to safety. It was only then that Sam searched for Jessica, and there she was sitting on the living room floor with her head in her hands. 

He didn’t have time to analyze the consequences of what just happened, and he gingerly stood up holding out a hand for his brother. Once, he got Dean upright, Castiel took over supporting Dean’s weight and guiding them out of the house. Sam had a flash of possessive fury, before he acknowledged his own duty to his wife. He had to make sure Jess got home safely. 

He approached her as if he were approaching a skittish animal, with his posture as non-threatening as possible and his hands held up in supplication. 

“Jessica, we need to leave now,” he commanded softly. She didn’t spare a glance for him as she vacated her position on the floor and made her way outside. 

Once they were out of the house, Castiel turned to Sam,  
“Sam, I must take your brother back to our apartment. But then I shall return here to smite this miserable residence from existence, that should eliminate any evidence connecting you here. Still, be careful.” 

Sam assented and climbed into his car. For a moment, he was unsure of Jessica’s actions. Would she allow him to drive her home, or could she not even stand to be in his presence? It made him sick to his stomach to contemplate how much she must hate him presently. 

However, Jessica did climb into the passenger seat and he drove them back to their own home. 

Sam could only bear being parted from his brother for a short while. He made a list in his head of all the items that he wanted to take with him on the road. Thus, it saved him time when he pulled into their driveway and he immediately went inside to pack what he needed. Three minutes later and he had stuffed all of his older jeans and shirts into his duffel, along with his favorite pictures and camera. 

He didn’t look back as he left. He didn’t need to. 

Jessica was still sitting in his car when he climbed back in. Her voice was monotone as she stated, “What am I going to say? How can I explain you left?” Sam glances at her and studies her pretty doll-like face marred with tear tracks, it would be the last time he saw her. 

The answer was simple enough for him, so he told her plaintively, “Lie. Tell a damn good lie. Maybe one day it will be the truth.” 

She leaned over to peck him on the cheek before getting out of the car. She walked up the driveway and closes the front door without ever looking back at him. 

 

Dean let Sam in when his little brother came knocking. Excitement bubbled from him, despite the fact that he had been lying almost dead in a pool of his own blood not a hour before.  
“Sammy, Castiel fixed me,” he grinned, voice clear and steady, “When he healed me, he healed everything. Healed the damage in my brain that caused the stuttering. God Sam, I’m back to normal again,” and Dean practically bounced around with delight. 

Sam caught him around the waist and pinned him against the door. 

“De,” he dropped his voice menacing, letting the emotion that had choked him all day settle behind the words, “don’t you ever try to leave me again. We do everything together, understand. You want to hunt. We’ll go hunting. You want to skip town, we go together. But just don’t clock out on me okay. Cause I will follow you. Have to. Can’t bear to be without you. Won’t ever leave your side again.” 

Sam knew his older brother was having a difficult time processing and keeping the various passions in check. Dean surged up and kissed Sam hard on the mouth, not even attempting to use words to convey his sentiments. 

This afternoon had wreaked havoc on Sam physically and when he reflected later he would blame himself, his lack of skill and sleep deprivation, for almost losing his brother. But, Dean kissing him, erased all the guilt, the humiliation, and the sorrow that the past eight years had inflicted. It produced the sweetest bliss which settled into Sam’s bones and made him feel insubstantial, otherworldly. 

“The only Heaven I’ll be sent to, is when I’m alone with you.” ~Hozier, Take Me To Church

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the support! It means so much to me, seeing as this was my first major fic. I loved the experience, and hope to get my next fic started as soon as possible. Thanks again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


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